


Never quite as grand

by Siff



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Poor Athos, drunks, fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:49:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siff/pseuds/Siff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>promp fill: Anything featuring Athos being mistaken for a whore. Serious or humorous;slashy or gen. Anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never quite as grand

Athos’ eye is twitching violently as he leans away, only to have his back hit the wall, trapping him.

“How much?” purrs the man again, his fingers coming up to take hold of Athos chin in a possessive grip. He wishes for nothing more than to draw his dagger and separate the bastard from his prick, which is currently being pressed against Athos leg, and the man is hard like a rock. But he can’t draw his dagger, only if he wishes to expose Aramis, who is currently talking to the gathered crowd of thieves and beggars, like a king holding court. Porthos is by his side, acting like protector as Aramis riles up the drunken men in order to find those most willing to actually stage an attack against the crown. Kill the snake before it strikes, had been his words.

It’s the most foolish plan Athos has ever been forced to agree to.

And it only gets worse by the fact that he was the one who was supposed to keep an eye on the crowd, not being pressed up against a wall by a man too drunk to see the difference between a whore and a man armed to his teeth. But he can’t draw his dagger. Porthos would react like a dog seeing a cat and probably barge through the crowd, leaving Aramis alone and blow their cover.

Swallowing down the bile rising in his throat, Athos twists his head out of the man’s grip.

“I do not offer such service,” he says in a low and cold tone, hoping the man will take the hint, but no such luck. Instead, the man bares his yellow teeth in a grin and presses closer until his whole body is covering Athos’, pressing him hard against the wall, shielding them both in the darkness. He nearly gags as the rotten smell crawls into his nose.

“Let me go,” he sneers and tries to move away, but the man grabs his left hand and slams it against the wall beside his head, while his other swoops down to curl around his right wrists, trapping it between them and dangerously close to the man’s prick.

“Oh, please,” he rasps and Athos fells sick as he hears how thick the voice is with desire. “I know your type, playing hard to get. I’ll pay the coin and show you a good time.” He rubs against Athos like a dog in heat. His hand releases Athos’ and crawls between his thighs where he grabs and squeezes.

Athos’ sucks in a disgusted breath the man mistakes for pleasure, and he slams their mouths together, hand working on Athos who will never rise for a man like him. Athos tries to throw him off but the man just presses in harder. Then the tongue pokes at his lips.

Mission be damned.

Athos twists his free hand around, fingers brushing his dagger through the thick fabric of his coat. The man leans closer, his heavy breath foul in his mouth. Athos grabs the dagger, ignoring how the man groans as his fingers accidentally brush against him, and–

The man is literally ripped away from him, and thrown across the room. Some yells “Fight!” and the tavern explodes into a violent frenzy. He barely has time to breathe, to get the bastard’s smell out of his nose, before a hand grabs his coat and hauls him away, out of the tavern and down the road where he is pushed into the darkness between two houses, and he again finds himself pressed against the wall. But this time with a familiar and much more welcomed body.

Porthos buries his hand in Athos hair and crushes their lips together. They’re both breathing hard, and Athos’ hands find Porthos shoulder on their own, holding on for dear life as Porthos sucks the breath out of him.

Porthos’ lips erase the memory of the man’s touch and breath, and the anger and disgust melt off him as he relaxes into the touch.

When Porthos finally pulls away, Athos is gasping, feeling hot and flushed beneath his thick cloak. Porthos draws away from him, but only enough for their eyes to meet and foreheads to touch. Athos stares into his eyes and feels his knees nearly go week by the emotions he sees.

“No one,” growls Porthos in a voice that makes Athos shiver despite the heat, “touches you. Understood? You are mine.”

Athos can only nod and Porthos hand is in his hair again, pressing them together.

When Aramis finds them, spotting a black eye and triumphant grin, telling them they have arrested three men, they finally break apart and Porthos turns to grin at Aramis. His hand never leaves Athos.

“Let’s go then,” he says.

. . .

“So…” says Aramis in a too serious tone, and Athos groans inwardly. “He thought you were a whore.”

Porthos growls and mumbles something unheard.

“A whore,” continues Aramis. “A streetwalker who gets paid to pleasure strangers for coin.”

“Yes,” says Athos, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“And he thought that you, Athos, were a whore? Huh…”

Athos eye begins to twitch as he waits for it. Fortunately, the wait is short. Aramis laughs. He laughs so hard he doubles over and has to stop their walk. He even has to reach out and steady himself against Athos, who glares at him, as he fights to breathe.

In the end, it’s Porthos who stops it. He gives Aramis a hard shove and the man’s laughter turns into a startled yelp as he falls backward into a very deep puddle.

“Porthos!” he yells, but the other is busy laughing and leading Athos down the road towards their shared quarters.

**Author's Note:**

> And no one died! Behold! I can write something other that total mental heartbreak.
> 
> I liked writing this one, short as it is.
> 
> Thanks for reading^^


End file.
